


poison cloud

by FictitiousFanatisch



Series: your eyes have their silence; larry [4]
Category: Harry Styles (Musician), Louis Tomlinson (Musician), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Established Relationship, Falling Out of Love, Implied/Referenced Cheating, LIGHT body worship, M/M, Post-Canon, Rimming, Straight!Louis, Tension, Unsafe Sex, beachhouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 20:18:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10446546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictitiousFanatisch/pseuds/FictitiousFanatisch
Summary: louis is unfaithful





	

**Author's Note:**

> no i don't actually believe any of this but i thought it would be cool to study this side of the argument

 

"Stop it,"

Harry feels a tremor ricochet up his spine at the tenacity of his words, the way his eyes harden, his lips pulling into a straight line. He pauses the movement of his hand where the pad of his index finger meets the incredibly soft, but firm skin of his boyfriend's stomach. He must be talking about that - Harry wasn't doing anything else.

"What?" Harry feels his brow push into a frown as Louis mars the intricate disharmony of the last ten minutes. Sometimes words only make things worse, and moments like these are better left undisturbed.

"You're... stop looking at me like that," He complains, pushing a hand through the feathery roots at the crown of his head. He's been on edge more often than not these days. They fight over nothing a lot more than they used to.

Louis pushes the filter against his lips again, his eyelashes fluttering distractedly as he pulls in another soothing strum of nicotine. Harry's teeth sink into his bottom lip, eyes falling back to the line of Louis's abdomen. He moves his fingers a little lower, just above his belly button.

"Why can't I look at you," He lazily wonders. He doesn't really need an explanation from Louis, and he doesn't want to piss him off, but he's curious. He used to be able to ask him things, talk to him about anything. He wonders when exactly he started to second guess himself.

Louis sighs loudly - it isn't that loud, but it's loud enough in the quiet room to make Harry wince. Louis is tired. He's been away for quite some time, and he's only back home for the weekend before heading out again for more interviews and radio shows and television appearances. Harry knows the last thing Louis wants is to be bombarded with his own stupid questions.

"Because," Louis breathes again, running his other hand over his eyes, pinching his tear ducts. 

"I know what you're thinking,"

Harry traces over his hipbones, flattening his palm against the flutter of Louis's stomach. He likes to watch the way his sun-kissed skin moves in the afternoon, the way his dainty ribs swell and diminish like the sea, the gentle whir of his blood as it moves through his hyperactive veins. But only after Louis has given up on trying to ignore him and his lovesick eyes and stops blaming Harry for not hating him like he hates himself.

"What am I thinking?" Harry hums. He doesn't want this to be easy for Louis. 

Louis exhales, "You're thinking about how much you hate me," 

 _Obviously,_ Harry snorts, curling his knuckles into a loose fist. The salty midday breeze easily passes through his knotted hair, caressing his sticky skin and beckoning him back into the ocean. The moving clouds provide a cool contrast to the heat of the sun every few minutes. This paradise on the edge of the world is so underserved.

"Why do you say that?" He smiles teasingly, but calculated. He doesn't want to push Louis. He learned a long time ago not to haggle the older man when he does come around and for that very reason nothing Harry really wants to say will ever be said.

Louis shifts on the mattress, drawing his leg up and dropping his hand to scratch at his knee. Harry trails his eyes down the protrusion of his hip, past the round of his bum to those sweetly tanned thighs. He looks on to Louis's legs, peering down between them.

Harry pushes up onto his knees, resting his weight back on his heels. He smooths his hand down to the inside of Louis's thigh, lightly dragging his knuckles back and forth. Louis doesn't look at him and Harry knows he doesn't intend to answer. He tugs the cigarette from his mouth, stubbing it out on the ashtray.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Louis sighs, like it's one of the many responsibilities he's grown jaded of after so many years. Harry parts his lips slowly, removing his hand.

"Yeah," He decides. He's not sure how long it's been since he was comfortable being honest about what he wants, but there's no reason to lie. He doesn't expect Louis to care much about what he wants anyway - not since the first time he came home reeking of sugar and spice.

Louis has never apologized for it; he claims it's in his nature and that he's always needed the soothing touch of a woman in the way Harry craves the touch of a man. He's still not sure if he's allowed to be angry. At least once a week he finds himself feeling numb for no reason, crying in the shower or staring out at the deep water horizon with Louis's name ghosting across his bottom lip. After so many years he feels silly asking anything of him.

He's tried talking to Louis about it, clearly to no avail. He's tried to distract himself by writing angsty, unrequited love songs. He's tried to ignore his feelings and self medicate by going out, getting pissed, wandering home with whoever'll have him. People quite like him. He tried to sleep with one his close friends last year. He was convinced opening up to someone caring and trustworthy could help and at one point he was desperate to fall in love with someone, anyone else.

But he's twenty six. People are settling down all around him and he's tired. He doesn't want to fight it anymore and he's done trying to convince himself that they can still make it out of this. These days he'd much rather stay at home alone, scrolling through articles about Louis and Louis's career and Louis's latest mystery girl and Louis's growing child. He doesn't mind falling asleep before the sea swallows the sun. Nothing soothes his broken heart. Nothing distracts.

Louis rolls off of the bed, stretching his limbs to the ceiling. He curls his lips in as he steps in front of Harry, brushing the back of his hand over Harry's thigh.

"Is that what you want?" Louis hums, knocking his chin up. He's not sure if he's being teased. He runs his thumb along a ripple in the bedspread.

Louis exhales patiently, cupping his hands under Harry's throat, thumbing over the edges of his jaw. Harry continues to look down between them. Nothing Louis gives him now could ever suffice for the amount of things he wants but can't have.

"Yeah?" 

Louis dips down and catches his lips softly, slowly. His tongue glides across his tastebuds, the bridge of his nose knocking against his own. Harry keeps his eyes closed for as long as possible, his fingers twitching in his lap. He wants to reach out and touch him, sometimes. He just doesn't feel worthy.

Louis's fingers dig into the flesh of his neck, the taste of menthol lingering on his warm breath. Harry tries not to get too sentimental about this; he's been hurt enough times to know this doesn't mean anything, but when Louis is here, kissing him and touching him because he knows it's what he aches for, he can't help feeling overwhelmed and a bit special. Things have changed so much.

Louis pushes his fingers through Harry's hair, cradling his head. Harry chases his mouth eagerly, curving his palm around Louis's hip in a subconscious effort to keep him close. He savors the softness of Louis's lips, the pleasant scrape of his stubble against his smooth upper lip, the subtle sticking of their saliva each time Louis moves away for breath.

"What," Harry inhales, the color of embarrassment bleeding into his cheeks when he sees Louis's expression. The older man chuckles gently, moving the pads of his fingers into the nape of Harry's neck.

"Nothing," Louis smiles, eyes bright with amusement. Harry chews the inside of his lip, dragging his eyes over Louis's expression.

"You're making fun of me," he accuses.

"No," Louis shakes his head. Harry frowns, folding his fingers around Louis's wrists, trying to drag the man's teasing touch away from his body.

"I'm not," he swears, but he's still smiling, so he mustn't really expect Harry to believe him. He hates that Louis will put this kind of pressure on him, to act normal, to laugh and not take things so seriously. He either doesn't realize the enormous weight he's put on Harry's shoulders or he no longer cares.

"Then what?" Harry demands, though his voice is still reverent to the tension between them. Louis loops his arms around Harry's neck.

Harry cups his waist, can't help running his thumbs into the tender spaces beside his ribs. He looks at the ink on his skin, trying not to let himself get wrapped up in the heartbreaking irony of some of their meanings. ' _It is what it is_ ', catches his eye.

Louis's lips brush over the corner of Harry's mouth, long lashes moving like delicate insect wings against Harry's hot, hypersensitive skin. His hair falls over his eyes as he leans in closer, mouth barely touching Harry's.

"I think you're crazy," Louis whispers. Even when he's this close he manages to keep his poker face. Harry's heart hammers behind his sternum, threatening to expose every truth he's taught himself to suppress.

 _He must really be over me_.

"I love you," Harry says before he can stop himself, moving his hands up to cup the small of Louis's back. The look he returns is enough to silence any doubts.

"I know," he says simply. 

 _Right_. Harry shuts his eyes when Louis closes the distance between them again, slotting their lips. He sighs through his nose, allowing his muscles to relax. He might as well enjoy this.

He tilts his head to the side, nerves sparking with anticipation as Louis slides the tip of his tongue past the seam of his lips, gently pressing into the roof of his mouth. Louis hums gently, dropping one hand to run up and down his belly. Harry can already feel the heat growing there; he savors the cool air from the cove fanning across his shoulders.

"D'you want to lie back?" Louis changes the subject, tracing the pad of his thumb over Harry's swollen bottom lip. Harry nods. 

Louis easily pushes him flat against the mattress before climbing onto his abdomen, knees parting on either side of him. Harry rests his hand on the small of Louis's back, melting into the sheets when he feels Louis's hand curling around his cock. He inhales, arching into the older man's touch. It's only been a few hours since Louis had his hand around him, but it feels just as amazing as the first time.

Louis scrapes his teeth against his jugular, mouthing over his Adam's apple and just along the square of his jaw, where it feels best. He twists his hand once, rubbing his thumb into the sensitive slit where a blot of precome starts the form. Harry lets his eyes fall shut to Louis's touch, the gentle pulses of pleasure already coiling through his pelvis. (He wishes the one man who makes him feel like this mad wasn't the same man who's made a habit of ruining his life.)

"You're hot like this," Louis smiles against his skin, smoothing his palm over Harry's chest. Harry looks at him from under hooded eyes, scooting back against the bed and pushing his hands up under Louis's arse to gain some leverage.

"I'm always hot," Harry insists as he knocks his head back against the mattress, because maybe if Louis came home once and a while he would get to see him like this. Moments like these could be their salvation.

Louis inhales slowly as Harry massages his fingers against the flesh of his bum, hopefully leaving a few bruises for his mistress to find. He squeezes his fingers along Harry's shaft in response, pinching the leaking head. Harry keens.

"Already so wet for me, hm?" Louis smirks. He slips down and out of Harry's grasp, dragging his lips down the line of his throat and to his abdomen, kissing between the thin, wiry curls at the base of his cock. Harry watches him closely, clenching his hands by his sides as the man moves those warm lips over his skin.

"I missed you," he thoughtlessly admits, trying to roll his hips up to get Louis's mouth where he wants it. Louis sucks a bruise into his hip, pins an arm over Harry's laurel tattoos to limit his movement, and then slides his palm down further.

"I still think about you," He starts as Louis wraps his fingers around his cock, folding his lips over the pink tip and suckling gently. He whimpers, unable to buck his hips.

"... when you're away," Louis peers up at him, pulling off for a moment. He closes his fist around Harry's engorged length, swirling his tongue through the glossy head. He moves in teasing circles, mouthing down to teeth at the sensitive arch on the underside. Harry clenches his eyelids.

"I get off to you," He shudders, arching into his ministrations. Louis holds his gaze, biting his lip as he moves the pad of his thumb in slow strokes, spreading the wetness. Harry gasps when Louis quickly leans forward and takes him into his mouth, sliding the underside along the flat of his tongue. He moans as he feels himself hit the back of Louis's throat. Louis relaxes, nudging him deeper. Tears bud in the corners of Harry's eyes, sweat prickling the contours of his face.

"I know you do," Louis says roughly when he pulls off, running his hands over Harry's stomach. His bottom lip is glossy with spit, dark with a purpling red that makes Harry want to spread fingers through his hair and shove him back down between his thighs. He can't remember the last time Louis did this.

Harry slides his hand around the back of Louis's head, thumb just lightly brushing the shell of his ear. He tries to focus on this feeling instead of the sting in his chest and the collection of unspoken words in the back of his throat. Louis smooths his hands over Harry's legs, lips caressing his thighs, palms turning over the crook of his knees. He lifts Harry's ankles up to rest the soles of his feet on the mattress.

"That doesn't mean anything to you?"

Louis pushes up onto his knees, trailing his index finger down Harry's cleft. He teeths at one of Harry's tight nipples, still warm and reddened with blood flow. Harry's closes his eyes, frustration brewing in his chest.

"You mean everything to me," he murmurs once Harry's fully convinced the statement would go unaddressed.

"Really?" he huffs, rocking up against Louis. The head of his cock catches against the soft divots of the older man's abdomen and he moans, pressing his fingers against Louis's nape. Louis glides his lips over Harry's neck, sucking his pulse point.

"Always have," He says. Somehow Harry isn't convinced.

Louis's cock knocks against his inner thigh, his hips moving with subtlety as he curls his fingers around Harry's jaw and tilts his head to the side. He parts his lips by force really, just to rub his tongue against his. Harry rolls his hips and groans into his mouth, draping an arm across Louis's back to pull him closer.

Louis bites his bottom lip gently, sucking it into his mouth as he moves his palm down to cup Harry's throat. Harry wants to say something about how much he's missed Louis's lips bruising him well into the night, but doesn't know how to go there without getting overly emotional, so he decides against it.

"Being so good for me," Louis mentions as he pinches his nipple, rolling it with spit. He smooths his fingers down Louis's spine, arching against him.

"Good enough for your tongue?" Harry wonders, his breaths labored. Louis inhales sharply as he knocks his wet cock against Harry's hip, a needy whimper building in the back of his throat.

"Maybe. If you beg," Louis exhales, dropping his head to plant a kiss in the center of his chest.  
"How long has it been, hm?"

"Too long," Harry complains, because Louis should know by now he doesn't bother with other people. No one has ever been able to touch him like Louis does, kiss him like waves crashing onto the shore or make him come as if they were trying to pull the soul right out of him.

"My poor Baby," Louis tuts, nipping his earlobe, curling his fingers around Harry's windpipe. Harry swallows hard as he lifts his hips off of the bed, trying to rub his dick against him.

"'Haven't been looking after you,"

Harry closes his eyes. He told himself he wouldn't let Louis and all of his notorious _Louis_ _things_ keep him from enjoying this. He deserves to be selfish for once. He's done feeling sorry for himself.

"Just fuck me already, Prick," Harry huffs, hooking his ankle around the crook of Louis's knee. Louis's cock bumps against his and Harry looks down between them, watching as Louis wraps his fingers around him. Harry leaves one hand to cradle the back of Louis's neck as the other snakes between them as well, fingers closing around Louis's girth. His cock is fat and full in Harry's hand, warm and pulsating with blood flow. It's been too long since Harry's felt it slipping between his cheeks, pressing into him with resistance.

"I love it when you tell me what to do," Louis breathes against his lips. Harry can feel the pleasure needling in his belly, sweat prickling his brow as Louis starts to touch him properly.

"You never seem to listen, though," he counters, tightening his grip. Louis shudders, moving against him. Harry twists his palm around the base of Louis's prick, pinches the head before coming back down; he soon falls into the same rhythm and speed. It's only another minute before they're both sweating and panting into each other's mouths.

Louis's fingers are glistening with his precome; Harry's convinced he's never been so wet in his entire life. He feels light headed and anxious with it, like at any moment he just might lose himself and come over Louis's fingers.

There's a pressure holding him down. A thick, lucid dream he can't escape, a beautiful nightmare that just keeps pulling him back in every time. The sensation licks his bones, builds in his tummy, that familiar tingling crawls up his spine – but he doesn't want to peak until Louis is buried deep inside of him, fingers tight around his throat as he shudders and gasps with the flood of his own orgasm -

"Fuck me. Please," his words slur with urgency, nails digging into the back of Louis's neck. Harry squeezes his knuckles to get his attention.

" _Please_ ," he begs. He's close but he knows Louis can tell. Louis slows to a stop, twisting his nipple.

"Run and fetch the lube," he orders. 

He takes a deep, much needed breath before unlinking their bodies and scrambling gracelessly off the bed.

He quickly crawls over to Louis's travel bag, knees blistering with rug burn. He finds it, taking another minute to calm his nerves before crossing the room again, and climbing back onto the mattress. 

"You okay?" Louis asks, tracing a hand down his calf.

"Yeah," he mumbles. He hasn't been okay for a long time, but he knows that's not what Louis is asking. Louis pushes the air out of his lungs.

"Come here, Baby Boy," he says, looping his fingers around Harry's ankle and tugging him back down to the center of the mattress. He doesn't really register what is happening but the sheets are rustling and rippling around his head and Louis is kneeling over him, running warm hands up the inside of his thighs.

"Wanna go down on you. Slow," Louis lifts Harry's knee over his shoulder, cupping both hands around the flesh of his arse. He leans in carefully, warm breath hovering Harry's hole.

"Get you nice and wet, open you up on my tongue, yeah? Know that drives you crazy," he runs his thumb down the flat of his tongue, tracing it around Harry's rim.

"Louis... please," Harry squirms, skating a hand over his tummy. He wants to touch –

"You want that, Babe?" Louis chuckles. He presses a dry, tantalizing kiss to his entrance.

"Yeah," he whispers. Louis looks up at him from between his spasming thighs, sucking another kiss to his taint.

"Tell me. Wanna hear you say it," Louis moves his fingers into the flesh of his bum, brushing the pad of his thumb over the center of his opening. Harry clenches.

"Want your tongue in me," he begs, his face burning. "Fuck– please, Lou,"

The older man smirks, his eyelashes wavering as he dips in closer, but still not attaching his mouth to him. Louis has always teased like the devil; he draws the tip of his tongue up between his balls, back down. He licks a thin, wet line over Harry's perineum, smiling against him when he starts to grow restless, whining and bucking his hips in frustration.

Louis's fingers tighten around his knee, shooting him a look to still his movements and Harry is so overwhelmed he might just cry. Louis must finally grow impatient with himself because then without warning, he laps a fat stripe over his entrance.

" _Lou, Lou–fuck_ ," Harry breaks out in goosebumps, knocking his head against the sheets.

Louis gently rubs the tip around Harry's quivering hole, thumbing him open as he presses the flat of his tongue in deep. He licks him out quickly, moaning against Harry like he's getting off on the taste.

Louis massages his tongue into his walls, rubbing his thumb against the tender skin behind Harry's knee. Harry wants to come, _God_ , he wants to come.

Louis doesn't come up for air. He gathers the thicker spit at the back of his throat, stroking the pad of his index finger against him. Harry looks down between their bodies, biting his lip. Louis spits down, smearing the wetness into Harry's reddened hole. He presses his tongue in deep, flicking it in and out as Harry writhes above.

Harry's breathing starts to speed again, and he sobs, tears budding in the corners of his eyes. The sex is more or less always quick and angry, enveloped by the tangled mess of feelings they'll probably never resolve. But like this - slow, with Louis devoting so much to his comfort and pleasure and satisfaction - it makes Harry's head reel.

He slides one finger in past the knuckle with little resistance, working in deep enough to feel the pull of Harry's walls, the way he gives underneath. Louis fucks his tongue in alongside it as he draws the finger out, then back in.

"So beautiful, Babe," he says under his breath. Harry pushes his fingers through Louis's hair, rolling his hips against Louis's lips.

He mouths at Harry's taint as he tucks a second finger in after the first. He's careful, spreading them to work out the resistance before sliding in deeper. He licks around Harry's opening, soothing any soreness from stretch. Harry digs his fingers into Louis's scalp.

Louis doesn't wait as long to slip a third in there, bending his knuckles and running the pads of his fingers over that soft bundle of nerves. Harry's cock twitches in the puddle of precome on his belly, his hand itching to close around it and flood his senses in sweet, merciful relief.

"I'm gonna– I'm going to come," he stammers, toes curling against Louis back.

"You're close?" Louis smirks, "Already?" Harry bites his lip, nods.

"You need to come?" Louis rubs his hand over Harry's cock, pressing his knuckles into his prostate.

"No–," he whines, arching his back up from the mattress. Louis gently suckles his balls, moving up to close his lips around the shaft of Harry's prick.

"I wanna– please, need you in me," He manages to string together a mildly coherent sentence. His voice seems obnoxiously loud in the quiet room.

"You're not gonna last," he challenges, scissoring his fingers, nipping at Harry's rim.

"Then hurry up and get in me," he sighs, tightening up around Louis's fingers when he starts to pull them out. He kneels closer, bringing Harry's thigh over his hip.

He grabs the lube easily, squeezing a bit too much out onto his fingers. He teases his hand down to Harry's opening, gently rubbing the slick around him, inside him. Harry breathes in deeply, practically trembling with anticipation as Louis lubes himself up. One hand glides over his swollen cock with practiced ease, soothing the pressure of his abated orgasm. Harry watches.

"If you'd rather wank I can leave," he quips. Louis gives him a cold, unimpressed look and a shiver runs down his spine. Sometimes he only pushes Louis so he can feel him push back.

He folds his hand around the back of Harry's thigh, holding his knee to his chest. Harry feels Louis's fist nudging between his cheeks, lining the tip at his entrance. He grips the back of Louis's neck as the head of his cock pushes past his rim, easing along his channel. Harry sucks in a breath and Louis keeps moving forward, filling him with one calculated stroke.

"Bottom bitch," he mutters, a hint of teasing in his voice. He pauses once he's as deep as he can go, hips cradling the curve of Harry's arse. He rocks steady and Harry digs his nails into his shoulder, shifting his hips to help facilitate his body's adjustment.

"Move," he commands, meeting Louis's distant gaze. He arches in, sliding their mouths together.

And Louis eases back out, nipping at Harry's lower lip as he sets a steady pace that rocks the headboard against the frame. The feel of Louis's cock rubbing up and down his walls has him tipping back against the mattress with a loud, guttural moan falling from his lips. It's been so long since they've done this –

" _Louis, Louis_ ," Harry breathes, curling his fingers around his other thigh, holding himself open. Louis sucks a kiss to the corner of his mouth as he thrusts in a little harder, almost as if he can read Harry's mind.

He thinks Louis could fuck him for hours like this and he wouldn't complain, not even if he ached with exhaustion or burned with hypersensitivity. This is what he needs, what he thinks about most when Louis is away and the one thing no one else can hold a candle to.

Louis loops his fingers around Harry's ankle and lifts it over his shoulder, changing the angle just slightly. It pulls him even deeper into Harry's warm body and he moans loud in the quiet room.

"This how you like it?" Louis asks, though he sounds out of breath. With every thrust Louis's cock bumps his prostate and he shivers, sweet coils of pleasure spreading throughout his entire body. A soft groan crawls up his neck and he's certain it's enough to answer.

"Come on– c'mon, _fuck me,_ more," Harry says, growing more and more insatiable. He rolls his hips in time with Louis's thrusts, drawing him closer, nudging him deeper. His skin is coated in a sheen of sweat and he's confident at any moment he could implode.

"I got you," Louis hums, scraping his teeth along the edge of Harry's jaw. Harry tosses his head back, a low groan escaping his lips as his wet cock drags against Louis's stomach, trapped between their forms. He wants to chase that feeling, lose himself in a flood of release.

"Think you can come without touching?" Louis wonders, the flush spreading up his neck to his face, drowning his cheeks in rose gold. Harry's eyelids flutter shut and he arches as Louis rubs at his spot. _Oh–fuck_ , he really needs to come.

"Yeah? God, that was so hot last time, Haz," Louis's always been in control of his body. He decides whether Harry laughs or cries, lives or dies. Whatever he wants. Harry allows his manipulation, he craves it.

He can feel his muscles tensing, the beads of sweat trickling down his skin, the heat of his orgasm settling deep in his belly before spreading through the rest of him like wild fire.

"That's it Baby, come on, come for me," Louis hums. The pleasure crawls up Harry's spine, flooding his vision in hot, white static. His lips fall just as his cock twitches and shoots two ropes of come between them, staining his belly, his chest.

"You're so fucking amazing," Louis breathes. Harry preens at the pride in his voice, the way Louis sounds almost drunk with awe. It's the closest thing he's felt to loved in a really long time.

He shudders with the aftershocks and melts into the mattress, his skin sticking to the sheets. Louis continues to move, in fast pursuit of his own orgasm. Harry watches with hooded eyes, pressing his fingers into the underside of his thigh.

"You want to flip over for me, Babe?"

Louis pulls out gently, soothing his palms over Harry's thighs as he lowers his leg back down to the mattress. Harry heaves the deadweight of his body up and turns slowly to bury his face in the bed.

He folds his knees underneath him and Louis grabs the pillow from the top of the bed, sliding it beneath his hips. Louis digs his fingers into his arse, parting his cheeks, tracing his thumb around the his opening before slipping the head his cock back into him. Harry moans with oversensitivity, eyes fluttering shut.

"So good for me," Louis sighs, grinding in quickly, pulling out slowly. He brushes his knuckles up and down Harry's spine, soothing the tension in his lower back. Harry relaxes after a minute. He sighs, lazily working back against Louis.

"I'm close, Haz," he murmurs, one hand holding his hip, the other sliding over Harry's shoulder to steady them.

"Come on me," he mumbles, lifting his head from the mattress, craning his neck to catch Louis's gaze.

Louis touches his face like he's stroking the petals of a dying flower. His eyes are clouded with pleasure and his hips are stammering against Harry as he approaches his climax.

"Yeah?" Louis digs his teeth into his bottom lip, accelerating the speed of his thrusts. The force of it knocks Harry's breath right out of his chest.

"Still my dirty boy," Louis pulls out, his knuckles curling around his cock. He doesn't falter, squeezing his fingers tight. His fist starts to move and before Harry can turn his head to watch, Louis's warm release is striping across his back in quick, steady pulses. He shivers at the feeling and at the sound of Louis moaning his name. Everything is overwhelming but he still wants so much he can't think straight.

"Fuck, Harry," Louis exhales, hand slowing to a stop. He collapses beside him, the mattress bouncing under his weight.

Harry stretches his body out on the bed, long limbs cracking in relief. His skin is sticky with salt and sweat and come and his body aches all over. His stomach is empty and he knows his back is going to be sore tomorrow, but he feels pretty incredible. He'd be willing to go again after they get dinner.

He tugs the pillow out from under him, flipping it over and pushing it under his neck before turning onto his side to face Louis. The older man lays motionless, aside from the slowing rise and fall of his abdomen. For a while Harry just looks at him, silently tracing his eyes down his glistening form. He doesn't know if he's allowed to speak; he's kind of terrified to wreck the peace.

Because there are a million things he wants to say, stuff he's always been too afraid of, or that never felt like the right time to talk about. He wants to ask Louis so many questions. He wants to yell and scream and cry. He wants to curl up in his embrace like when they were younger, cast away all his fears and frustrations. He wants to beg Louis to stay.

Before he can part his lips and start something he'll later regret, Louis's mobile is buzzing on the night table. He ignores it for the first couple seconds and Harry makes the mistake of thinking he'll leave it. He eventually leans over and grabs it, gingerly sliding his index finger over the screen to answer the call.

"Hello?"

Harry sits up slowly, tugging the pillow into his lap.

"Nothing. Why?" Louis scratches his chest. It's garbled in the static of the speaker, but Harry is almost certain the voice belongs to a woman.

"Shit, I completely forgot," Louis mutters, quickly getting up from the bed. He jogs across the room, disappearing into the bathroom. Harry frowns.

The shower runs and Louis reappears, scrambling to his bag and pulling out a clean pair of briefs.

"No, don't just– tell him I'm on my way. Yeah, fine. See you in a bit,"

Harry wonders if he should get started on the laundry. He really didn't want to spend the rest of his evening alone, but his therapist told him to stay busy when he feels like falling apart. He can feel the anger building in his chest, the lump of emotions lodging themselves in the back of his throat. The last thing Harry needs is to start crying in front of him.

He feels incredibly naked and cold all of a sudden. He tugs the duvet from its pile on the floor.

Louis reemerges from the bathroom after about five minutes. He moves around the room, yanks a clean shirt out of their closet, zips up a pair of black jeans, throws a jacket over his shoulders and pulls on a pair of trainers.

Harry tries to drown out all the sounds, the smell of Louis's cologne, the gentle hum of his voice as he talks to himself. He doesn't register how much time passes until Louis is coming around the bed, grabbing his pack of cigarettes and his wallet.

"Sorry, Babe. I don't know what time I'll be back. Fred–," Harry grimaces.

"I know," he cuts him off, but doesn't bother to meet his gaze. Louis has been sorry before. The worst part about it is that it's impossible for Harry to take his anger out on him for having other priorities now, other people counting on him, other responsibilities. It leaves Harry feeling lost between some unsatisfying mixture of rage, anguish and indifference.

"You're mad at me," Louis looks at him, rubbing a hand over his stubble.

"I'm not mad," Harry says, because it's the truth. He might have been mad two or three years ago when their relationship was still hanging by a thread. Back then he felt like some part of this was his fault and that it was his responsibility to chase after Louis and force him to love him like he used to. Now it's just a dull itch in the center is his chest that he's never been able to scratch. Agonizing, but familiar.

"You're lying," Louis accuses. Harry sinks deeper under the duvet, wondering why he's still here.

"Aren't you late for something?" he tries his best not to sound passive aggressive, but fails miserably. He doesn't know why he's so afraid to tell Louis just how dangerously unhappy he is.

"Harry," Louis sighs.

"Go, Louis. I understand, just go," he sucks in an unsteady breath, turning onto his side. Louis hovers at first, probably feeling guilty, but he doesn't push. He doesn't grow agitated or try to force answers out of him. It's something Harry used to love about Louis, but now ultimately the one thing he hates the most.

After a minute Louis must realize his presence has become toxic, so without another word he leaves the bedroom, tugging the door shut behind him.

And Harry is alone again, like he often finds himself these days, suffocating in silence and the miasma of memories he's been trying so hard to forget.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://sobbingsoftly.tumblr.com/)


End file.
